


break your heart to make it bigger

by laireshi



Series: Interrogation [2]
Category: Iron Man (Comic), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Birthday Presents, Hurt No Comfort, Hydra Cap, Hydra Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Not A Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11037990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: “I could pretend to behim,” Steve says, like he’s reading Tony’s mind. He’s still smiling, almost content. “Just for tonight. Is that what you’d like, Tony? He’d be so gentle with you."





	break your heart to make it bigger

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TONY.
> 
> Thank you for beta to [Comicsohwhyohwhy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/comicsohwhyohwhy)! ALSO FOR ENCOURAGING THE EVIL. Similarly, I blame Caz and Navaan! 
> 
> A fill for the "wish" square on my stevetony bingo card.
> 
> Mind the tags.

Tony barely reacts when the door to his cell opens and armed Hydra goons come inside. It’s not the first time; in all probability it won’t be the last. 

“Stand up,” one of them says, and Tony obeys. They won’t hurt him, but he already knows they _will_ hurt others. People Tony doesn’t even know, civilians risking their lives in the resistance, everyone that he’s failed to protect. Some superhero he is.

He offers his hands to be cuffed and follows as they lead him out. They don’t blindfold him, and so Tony looks around, maps their every step. One day, he will run. One day, he will escape, and he will make this fake Steve pay.

He used to think, _one day he’ll save Steve_ , but he doesn’t allow himself that luxury anymore. He’s no longer sure if Steve ever existed. He can’t afford to let himself hope. And what has his life come to that he _hopes_ his best friend was brainwashed into an immoral, ruthless monster? 

God, Tony should’ve seen something was wrong.

They lead him to the elevator, force him to watch the wall as they input the security code. Tony listens to the key presses, nine characters, 10000000000 combinations, and that’s if it’s numerical only. It’s fifty five seconds before the elevator slows down, and Tony walks out obediently. He’s still scanning his surroundings, and he thinks he hasn’t been on this floor before. It’s all expensive-looking, plush carpet and walls covered in wooden panels, and in front of them, heavy doors.

One of his, ah, _guides_ , knocks on the door. It opens mere seconds later, Steve Rogers in an impeccable suit waiting inside. 

Tony feels his mouth go dry, because it’s hard to shake off years of attraction, even as all he wants is to punch the man and make him admit what happened to Steve, to Tony’s Steve.

So much for not hoping, Tony thinks bitterly.

“Hi, Tony,” Steve says. He nods at the guards, and they—gently, of course, because _Tony Stark is to be taken care of_ is the order—push Tony forward. 

Tony dreams of nothing else than to fight, but he grits his teeth and goes inside. Steve closes the door behind him. Tony looks around, but they’re just in another corridor, a couple of doors in it.

“Give me your hands,” he says softly. 

Tony just stares at him. 

“Come on, Tony, don’t make it difficult.”

Tony squints at him. “If you think I won’t be _difficult_ , then you don’t know me at all,” he says.

Steve smiles thinly. “Like you didn’t know me?” he asks, and somehow after everything this still can hurt. 

“There’s dinner,” Steve says after a moment. “You’ll need your hands, if you don’t want me to help you.”

Tony’s sure as hell not willing to _eat dinner with the Hydra Supreme_ _Leader_ , but he’s even less willing to consider the alternative, here.

He extends his hands, and Steve touches his wrist carefully, like Tony’s fucking precious, before fishing a key out of his pocket with his other hand. He opens the lock in one smooth motion, and Tony snatches his hands back as soon as Steve removes the handcuffs and then puts them to the shelf beside him. 

Steve puts his hand on Tony’s nape, steering him to the last door. Tony tries not to shiver. 

The door opens to reveal a spacious room, floor-to-ceiling windows at the far wall, a king-sized bed on the left that Tony does not dwell on, and a table set for two in front of the windows. There’s a bottle of champagne and two flutes on it, and Tony’s heart sinks.

Steve moves the chair for Tony as if he’s a gentleman on a date and it’s all Tony can do not to attack him. He’s never had a chance with Steve physically, not even when he had Extremis; he probably wouldn’t even be able to get in one punch now, weakened as he is. No, he can’t do that, but he can try and gain more information. Somehow.

Steve smiles at him. He reaches for the bottle, uncorks it and pours the alcohol into the flutes before offering one to Tony.

Tony doesn’t take it.

Steve sighs. “It’s apple cider,” he says.

Tony doesn’t let himself show surprise. “What’s the occasion?” he asks instead.

Steve raises an eyebrow. He pulls his phone out and shows Tony the screen.

 _08:05 PM_ , it reads, and below it, _May 29th_.

“Happy birthday,” Steve says.

“Dinner? Cheap move, Steve, the least you could do is make a parade in my name,” Tony says, “I’m sure your propaganda machine would love it.”

Steve doesn’t falter. “I’ve got a better gift, if you want,” he says, his eyes boring into Tony’s with an unnerving intensity. “If you want.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Tony spits. _Say it’s all a nightmare, wake me up, prove Captain America was real_. The only wish Tony has, now, the one that will never come true.

“I could pretend to be _him_ ,” Steve says, like he’s reading Tony’s mind. He’s still smiling, almost content. “Just for tonight. Is that what you’d like, Tony?”

Tony strikes out before he can think, raising from the chair, a clumsy punch.

Steve catches his hand, unperturbed, runs his fingers over Tony’s palm. “He’d be so gentle with you,” he says. “Reverent. He was pathetic. Weak.”

Tony stares at him. He wants to step back, but suddenly Steve’s grip is like a vice around his wrist. “That’s why you’re so desperate to _play him_?” Tony asks.

There’s something cold in Steve’s eyes, now. “I don’t think I’m desperate, here,” he says, but something’s off about his voice.

“You’d pretend to, what—love me—just so you could have me?”

“I have you, Tony, body and—”

“And _never_ mind,” Tony snarls. “What, next you’d like me to say _hail Hydra_ for 4th of July to return the favour? I’ll never say yes, no matter what you offer.” 

“He was weak,” Steve repeats. “You’re weak, too. You still think there’s a way back. There’s not, Tony. And you will have to accept it one day, and I’ll be here, waiting.”

He says that like it’s a fact.

The day Tony believes there’s no hope, though: that’s the day he kills Steve.

There must be hope. 

Steve tilts his head slightly when Tony doesn’t answer. He caresses Tony’s hand, his own fingers warm and soft as if he couldn’t snap Tony’s wrist with barely any effort. Tony doesn’t try to move away again, fully aware how quickly the gentle touch can turn to pain. 

“You can still say yes,” he offers. “It is your birthday, after all.”

There’s a part of Tony that almost wants to agree, that wants to see warmth in Steve’s eyes and let himself be touched, that wants the illusion of love.

He’s disgusted at himself.

Steve leans in. He slides one hand up Tony’s arm, to rest it on the side of Tony’s neck, against his pulse point. Tony swallows.

Tony can feel Steve’s breath on his face, but Steve doesn’t close the distance.

Steve had never offered, before.

“No,” Tony whispers. 

Steve actually steps away. He doesn’t look angry or disappointed. Tony lets himself take a deeper breath again.

“You were right,” Steve says. “I know you, Tony. I know you’ll make it difficult, every step. And this is what will make breaking you all the more satisfying.”

“Never,” Tony repeats.

“Iron can shatter,” Steve says. Something in his voice makes Tony shiver. He seems more dangerous now, out of touch, than he was moments ago, offering the kiss.

Steve reaches for Tony’s glass and raises it in a mock toast. “To remaking, Iron Man,” he says. He drinks a sip and then pushes the glass against Tony’s lips.

Tony fought the important battle, today. He’s too tired to fight another. _Apple cider_ , he remembers, and drinks.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't want to discuss current canon here; I like writing dark otp things and that's what I do. My opinions on storylines and characters are different things and not necessarily reflected by my topic of choice.
> 
> This fic is a standalone, but I have another oneshot that explains how it's possible Tony's not comatose anymore, [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10839345). (Other than, you know, saying "Canon Divergent").


End file.
